Ethereal
by queenlocksleys
Summary: Regina comes in one day, inside Robin's bookshop, they meet through shyness and literature while they soon find themselves falling into something new, something they read about but never had, love.
1. Chapter 1

It could have been in the way her eyes were screwing on the books, looking curiously and with so much concentration and great care. She picked the books like they were treasures, like they held some dark ancient secrets that only the wise readers can unfold, and it's what books are, so he thought, and apparently by the way her hands held them, she thought so too.

Or maybe the dark hair, shoulder length, reflecting the sun that filtered through the large windows, his fingers craving to touch and cradle, the way her fingers twisted her own mouth, its redness and fullness making him gasp, like he wanted his fingers there instead of hers.

Even her body, god did he noticed the body, curves perfect, top to bottom, especially bottom, he's an ass man, but those damned legs and the tight fitted red dress… It's too much.

She just walked in, and she's too much.

He is not used to eying women, he's not like that, never was, and it's not what he's doing now. Or is it?

But she's a hurricane who came straight to the French literature section, good taste he thought immediately, he had been ranging the shelves right next, putting Steinbeck away from Spanish literature and who's that stupid, but then he finally turned to the presence next to him and gods, he immediately thought about how good she would taste.

She holding three books, Hugo, Balzac and Proust, and he can't help but cringes at her last choice, something she apparently noticed as she looked up to him.

He immediately turned his head away, caught and damn him he is not like that to anyone usually so what the hell.

His bookshop is cozy, filled with what he loves the most, books and thousands of them, neatly posed on wooden shelves, it's all his, except that he sells those books but he no longer felt a small ache in his heart whenever one of his babies goes away. That lasted three weeks.

Kinsale is cozy too, simple, bright and rainy these days but it's everything he loves. It's colorful, watery and his books fit perfectly between tea and coffee, in the nearby coffee or the park.

It should be noted that the fact that he made it, owns his little paradise is still a wonder to his family, while it was obvious to his friends, not he's not capable, or that he couldn't do it, he just has some problems. Some issues, nothing serious, nothing life threatening no. He just doesn't like to talk to strangers. Or in front of a crowd of more than 4 people. Or his family. Sometimes his friends. He always looks down and never speaks to anyone new to him.

He is shy.

 _Madly so._

So yeah, hearing that he managed to get himself his own company, even how small it is, talking to managers and bankers, now every day to customers, had been taken as a joke by the family.

He's better now, not that easy around people like the damned goddess right in front of him but he can advise the lost souls in his shop who never knew Sartre and Bergson could cure their pains.

And he even toasted to his best friend John's wedding. For two seconds. And it was not more than a whisper. But he got up, that's a thing right?

His eyes focused hard on Of Mice and Men, clenching the damned book like a life line and god he shouldn't have. He had a girl once, childhood friend and different paths in existence but they get to prom and danced and yeah he had dates. Horribly awkward dinners where the girl is always leaving before desert or just wanted to get into his pants and don't mind his lack of conversation.

Right now he just wished he could disappear into the ground, but a part of him wants to turn around, tell her to drop Proust and how beautiful she is, and

 _No, he can't._

"Do you … Hm … Do you think I should go with Ninety-Three ?" her voice is velvet, soft, and she's American, it's getting better and better and shit he's sweating because now he has to turn around, she's a customer. Who took his breath away.

Slowly, a smile in which he can barely held back his fear, but she's not danger he should really do something about that shyness because it's killing him.

"I'm sorry?" his mouth is dry and he turned from her thirty seconds ago but her eyes he drowns in them.

She's not smiling, not on purpose he thinks because she tries he sees it, she looks down and fumbles with her hands, behind her back, to her front, looks down and down, hair falling and scent of roses and _her_ fills his nose.

 _You perfectly heard her you stupid old c…_

"I was wondering if … Well never mind"

 _Great you made her run away, like always._

"Wait wait wait" he rushes to her, Steinbeck dumbly falling from his hands and she moves to pick it up just as he does and they both end up apologizing over and over again, their hands touching the cover at the same time, it's cliché and her scent invades him again.

She looks up at him and her hair is slightly tousled, she's up close and she has a scar on her upper lip, a cute nose and he's lost for words, lost in her. Crouching down on the ground, hands on hers, she seems as lost as he is, she's… drinking him in. And maybe even lost at words.

Stop, he picks up the book and quickly get up, wants to offer his hands but she clumsily gets up and she's adorable as she picks her bags, fix her hair and his hand aches again so he place it at his neck, "sorry for you know" he doesn't even know himself so how is she supposed to know?

"Hm I wasn't … Yeah" she still looks down and she's blushing madly, her hands falling on her cheeks and she feels her hot face, and her eyes close in embarrassment, and she's cute, adorable beyond words and if he was not mistaken and his heart wasn't beating so rapidly from their previous closeness he would notice she was just like him. _Wait what_

Realization hits him, she's embarrassed head down and she's like him, clumsy and gods, she's like him.

He doesn't think, doesn't listen to any rational or irrational thoughts that enter his clouded mind, and "I would pick Hugo over the three for his strength but Balzac is a romantic and a hell of a good writer, Proust is difficult but a must have if you want to look smug in front of your friends, but then you have wonders like Chateaubriand and nineteenth century poets that would fit you" he can't stop, he should because the next words would have been date me please and he doesn't want to sound desperate but her eyes gods.

He's flirting, he doesn't do flirting, he did online meetings, he did dates thought friends, he did childhood sweetheart but he never ever flirts with stranger, or at all, he just doesn't. What the hell is happening?

"Fit me" her voice is still soft and she gasp at him, and great she offended, mouth open in gap and he sees her teeth, and since when does he look at his customer teeth with the urge to lick them with his tongue, what the hell really

"I mean…" he gulps "I mean you're a true beauty, not that I don't…" and great "Your beauty is astonishing like … it's not" rumblings "what I mean is" rumbling and fumbling "you fit in 19th century poetry in its definition of beauty and grace, full lips and melancholy, you're a poet muse, a rare bird, you're not a bird but a very stunning woman, it's why it does fit you" he speaks quickly, now wishes he was dead and prays to heaven she won't smack him with the bird thing, because she's more than beautiful, it's not the first thing he noticed, French literature, great taste and intelligence, and then her beauty.

He sees her face going from surprised to more surprised and she's looking at him like he's a wild thing, because he's fumbling, her shyness still preeminent, she's like him.

"You think I'm hm I'm pretty?" she's looking at him, mouth nothing but a small gasp and yes hell he does.

"Well I didn't mean to offend you" and she moving toward him, because when he spoke he took a step back and her arm is raised like she want to put him right where he was, afraid he was going somewhere and "You didn't" is rushed out of her. Her arm quickly fall back and she looks at him still, gulps, licks her lips and a sudden rush to taste that mouth is flooding thought him.

"Oh" oh is very eloquent.

"I don't … I don't think Proust is it for me but … Can you help me?" she's hopeful, doesn't seem to look at him the way he looks at her but there is something there, longing and she's not letting go, neither is he, even when he wished he stopped embarrassing himself, they are holding on to whatever the attraction is. Fighting their shyness.

"Of course, it's what I'm here for", he breathes out, and the smile that slip from his lips is true and calm and this is maybe the first time in his life it's happening.

She smiles back, his heart is selling away to hers.

"Regina" her hand darts out, reaching for his, they clench, stay in their warmth as he answers "Robin" in the same whispering tone as hers.

Regina is Robin's Esmeralda, she's a Jane Bennett but maybe she's an Elizabeth in hiding and he wants to know if she'd choose Little Dorrit over Oliver Twist like he does and she's his heroine.

 _He's screwed._

* * *

 **So this is very AU, set in Ireland between books and Robin and Regina's pov. All mistakes are mine, the show and oq are not mine sadly.**

 **Please take the time to review, on here twitter or tumblr, you know it's important to authors, and I'd like to know if you liked the chap so I can post more !**


	2. Chapter 1 Bis

Her feet carried her thought the streets of her newfound home, discovering what she now can call her land. She moved out of her childhood home, its heaviness and family pressure, living her life in a small house near the beach, paid without mommy's money and she does what she always loved, works with horses, teaches small kids and stubborn grown-ups to ride and she pets them and it's the dream. Ireland was always her secret dream.

Blue, yellow, pink, green and colors everywhere, she's smiling and passes thought the small shops and pub, people smiling back at her, throwing hellos and good days at her, but she only nods in return, her voice never strong enough. She noticed a library around the corner, not small but not big either, it's white and _The Open Book_ in black letters is calling at her, but can she because it's rather small, probably not crowded, but as she near and the shops goes bigger, the windows large and yes, people flooding thought shelves and she doesn't have any good book left, she doesn't have much in her small cottage.

She lives alone, had never been happier and considering her childhood it's not that complicated to find happiness. Not many friends, or yes, many friends but made by her mothers, never her choice, she never let her do nothing, no chocolate, no coffee, bed time strict and home school, servants, money a lot of it, but never happiness, never, her father a cheater who liked the head servant a bit too much, her mother too hard and she never saw her smile.

This is happiness, so she thinks of finding a good old Jane Austen book, _Emma_ because she's in a light mood and Emma is light and stubborn, not shy like her and she's free, like her.

She opened the door, stepping into the building, it's larger inside, has two floors, and it smells like books and knowledge, that she likes. She likes a lot.

Her timidity was not her own making, as a small child, three years old running around the house, brave enough to confront her mother, to chase the servants and make her own friends in the parks with her nanny, she used to scream from the top of her lungs her happiness. That's what her father told her anyway. As she grow up and understood the way her life was going to be, giving up against her mother's power and abuse and became the quiet girl who nods and says yes.

Being raised up like she was never enough, shutting it so that a year ago she almost said yes at her mother orders to marry a sixty years old bag for money and position and no, it had been too much, the three years old rebel inside her raising up and running away the week after, her plane ticket to the secret dream and her father finally stood up and drove her to the airport.

She hesitated between Austen and French literature, thought about the fact that she read Emma a thousand time, yes she gave her courage and the romance is gold, where can she find a Knightley please, but France wins out, she needs to refill her library with classics.

She never talks to anyone. Her mother no longer here to tell her who to befriend with but she is marked, she can't because of her mother's damages. She wants to, desperately, dinners alone, coffees and she thinks of the way her mother must have been furious at her departure but god did it felt right, and she has a little brother, they weren't that close but he calls and he's free, he's a boy, how sexist of her own mother who doesn't respect her own sex. Or doesn't own a brain.

Growing up her inability to speak at dinners had been a blessing because her mother always told her she was messing everything up all the time, that she was an embarrassment when she speaks and she is, she's a huge rambling mess it's awful. She grew up like this, no friends to relax with, to help her with this, this thing she has that makes her look away and never respond to sweet strangers who hellos her but it's okay.

The shelves were full, small blank covers to colorful and special ones, even some in French but she was never that good beside bonjour and champignon. Hugo calls at her, he's THE writer she needs, he's the man, the monument she'll read tonight, but then Balzac that she never picked up calls her too, she passed on Moliere because theater is messy to her, La Fontaine she knows by heart from when she was a child, Proust well why not. Sartre? She's not depressed.

She first went out to pubs, it has been awkward, the worst thing ever actually and she left five minutes later, her attempt at friends a deep mistake and she spent her night crying over the damages of her mother. She's not messed up.

She's just shy.

The library is not overcrowded but there are people going in and out, sellers and passionate, a little girl in front of the philosophy shelves, her mother in front of the teenage books and no it's not how it should be, the little girl should read philosophy and even not understanding a bit about it rather than having her brain washed by her mother because that's what happened to her but before her eyes the mother held out a " _philosophy explained to young children_ " and that's better, the girl will understand and the mother is happy, this is happiness and she's proud, she never saw her mother being proud of her and when did she begin to analyze people? _Stupid_.

She hears a small sound to her left, a frown maybe, she turns her head to the sound and oh

Yeah oh

 _Definitely_

He turns away and she noticed his face, he's hot, the scruff, eyes blue or green or even darker, his face is handsome, he's fit and he's wearing a blue light shirt, and now that he's turned his dark jeans are doing wonder to the hell of a butt he got.

She's not checking him out, up and down, clearly enjoying herself no not at all. But she doesn't do that, doesn't even look at strangers that close, shyness creeping up and she always as to look away but he caught her by surprise because he was looking at her …

 _Wait_

He's hot and he was looking at her and he works here. This is her chance to speak to someone who doesn't pay her for an hour of classes, it's okay she tells herself, let her mother fade away, he's not a horse, _definitely not_ she wants to laugh at herself and

"Do you … Hm … Do you think I should go with _Ninety-Three_ ?" but her voice is low, too hesitant and god damned why

He stops and turns around, slow motion and she loves his face, she really, really does. _When did it get so hot in here_.

"I'm sorry?" and he's holding on his book, maybe he was reading, she interrupted him, great.

She tries to hold up a smile, no teeth, but tries and fails, because she's stupid she interrupted him, so much for overcoming her fear, wait not a fear, her shyness. Her hands finds no purpose, she wants to take back her question, he is probably seeing someone, not that she's interested in anything because she had just known him for two minutes and she doesn't know him, so she's not.

She had someone, only one, first love and it was her mother's doing. A story of heartbreak, of hopes and disappointment on both sides, he used to mock her, she was never attached to him. Marriage was but a month away when her mother broke it off, and not for her daughter, what a joke, no on his behalf for he could marry another heiress, Australian, and her daughter had someone else planned for her so yes please, don't worry, go after another love, and of course you're still welcome here.

She's pretty sure he's even more welcomed then her now.

The handsome librarian, blond hair and now she sees blue eyes looking at her intently and it's too much, it's a mistake so "I was wondering if … Well never mind" and she wants to run but she's no child, but "Wait wait wait"

She looks back, sees the book in his hands landing with a loud thump as he rushes to her, he's gentle and sweet and great it's her fault if he dropped his book so she kneels down, and he does so, but it's still her fault, her and her stupid mouth, for a minute it's just them apologizing and looking down, until their hands brush and firmly stay on the book. That's when she looks up, electric energies flies thought her, belly up to her head and she's dizzy, dizzy with his mouth slightly open, his scuff is not a three day old bear, it's beautiful, he is beautiful, his eyes are blue, definitely and they are still looking at her with admiration _wait what_

She can't speak and for once it's not because of her coyness.

But then he's gone, the moment breaks and she's up too, her bag on her elbow, head down to her dress as she gets up as gracefully as she can. She fails.

"Sorry for you know" is he embarrassed?

"Hm I wasn't … Yeah" she's still hot, blushing probably. Oh god she's blushing, yup she is, she's fucking blushing, and great it's getting better and better, _you managed five minutes before turning red like a tomato._

She just looks down, thinking of how easy she can make a fool of herself, he's still looking at her she knows, she feels it, her eyes closes and she wants to die.

He speaks quickly "I would pick Hugo over the three for his strength but Balzac is a romantic and a hell of a good writer" she looks up and his eyes are wide and looking at her soul, pulling and pulling her in "Proust is difficult but a must have if you want to look smug in front of your friends, but then you have wonders like Chateaubriand and nineteenth century poets that would fit you" he trails off, stop midsentence she's sure he had a thousands of others things to say but he stops and literature is the last thing on her mind right now.

Fit her, what does it mean "fit me?" she's beginning to understand the compliment, he blurred it out, quickly and she knows he mean it because of that, he looks caught and she lets out a gasp.

"I mean… I mean you're a true beauty, not that I don't…" he's adorable "Your beauty is astonishing like … it's not" and his accent, he's British, this is getting better and better but in the right way "what I mean is" his hands are playing with Trotsky, waving it and the book is definitely ruined "you fit in 19th century poetry in its definition of beauty and grace, full lips and melancholy, you're a poet muse, a rare bird, you're not a bird but a very stunning woman, it's why it does fit you" he tells her quickly, looking down at her shoes, and he is embarrassed, he was looking at her, but not talking to her, she took the first step and he is fumbling.

She could recognize shyness everywhere.

And she's speechless.

"You think I'm pretty?" it's her small unsure voice, but he makes her want to talk about anything for hours. When did it changed?

He takes a step back and no no, _come back_ her inner comic self screams "Well I didn't mean to offend you" and he's shy.

Her step goes unnoticed by herself, her arm raising on his own too, she lost control of her body but thanks god it's not gripping at him as she fantasies about the shelves and wonders if they are strong enough but this is weird, she's not that interested in sex usually.

"You didn't" her arm quickly fall back and she looks at him still, gulps, licks her lips and he's staying, it's good, this feels good not dangerous. She hears his small hums and he's looking down.

She wants this, she wants to break her chains and he is absolutely adorable and hot and intelligent and handsome plus he works at a library, he's the dream, and he's adorable but that she already said.

"I don't … I don't think Proust is it for me but … Can you help me?" hope fills her heart, she's smiling, a true thing that play on her lips, he smiles back and _goooood_ dimples she wins at life

"Of course, it's what I'm here for" he whispers, voice low and he's as lost for word as she is, or so she likes to believe.

"Regina" she says out of nowhere, her smile growing from lips to full teeth and his hand is in her, "Robin" and he's warm and welcomed inside her heart if he'd like to stay.

In five minutes Robin managed to be everything Regina never had, he's hope and so much more than Daniel ever was. She won't compare, she won't let her mother in, she's free, living her secret dream.


End file.
